Kinabalu

The mountain is not going to happen for me. May 1st is a holiday, for all of Asia, it seems. As well, while heading to Borneo to hike Mt. Kinabalu without a tour package is said to be possible, it ain't easy. One company owns the overnight lodging on the mountain, another the permits required to hike. From what I've learned, you have to travel to the park (minimum 2 hours from town) to see if there are any cancellations for the following day, and at that, there's no guarantee anyone will have canceled. Especially on a holiday.

The mountain itself is about 12,000 feet, the summit granite which you have to pull yourself up with ropes at certain points. I have to admit, I'm bummed. Not in the best shape of my life, it would have certainly been a challenge. At the same time, I'm strong and was looking forward to the challenge.

We did visit the National Park and hot springs though today, and walked a canopy through the trees. Our first stop in a local village, the people chew betel nuts. It looks like a tiny red cigar poking out of their mouths, and leaves a red film on their lips, teeth and tongue. Does anyone else remember Mercurachrome? My dad used to use it on, well, any and everything that ailed. Inside the park, a short hike up to the canopy walk, my mom got two steps out and flipped out. Unsteady, giggly, you walk on 2X8 planks of wood through the treetops, holding onto ropes with a net lining on either side. Rereading this, it doesn't sound all that safe, I guess. Sandwiched between my dad and me, though, the moms made it. At one point, she turned to my dad and said, "I'd get in her pocket if I could." Hell, I figured. She carried me around for 9+ months. Least I could do.

P.S. Does the end of the walk look like a heart to anyone else but me?

Dancing Queen

The day spent getting to know Kota Kinabalu, we walked along the water. And walked. And walked. Sometimes what looks like a short distance on a map turns into, well, 7 more kilometers. We eventually found Down Below Dive Shop and reviewed options. I'm hoping for a lot of things here in Borneo. There's a mountain to climb and I'd love to get SCUBA certified. We'll see.

To the sunset at the Shangri-La, there cannot be a better sunset view in all of KK. Oh, and there's a fire show to boot!

After dinner, I went out for a little karoake. Why the hell not? I think people are intrigued by me here, a single girl, different. Or maybe it's pity. If I'm a curiosity, probably less so once I open my mouth. Granted, I did start out with Sweet Child O Mine. Still, the bartender befriended me. Shocker. The only girl drinking Chivas, I'm sure. Another girl befriended me, too. We sang ABBA together and lit the place (all three occupied tables) on fire. From Borneo and only 24, but married with two kids, and dating her husband's best friend, she told me her story. Hurting her parents, her husband, abandoning her kids, all that conflicting with her desire to be free. Guilt and more guilt, she turned to me for some answers. Who am I to say anything? All I have is freedom. She thinks she's selfish for not returning to her family and husband. And talk about some guilt. For me? Guilt doesn't exist. If you are true to your heart and honest about it, you cannot feel guilty.

Then she showed me the cuts on her wrist. I swear. All over this earth, people are hurting. And I just want to spread love. We can all be happy. And live our dreams. How? How does it happen? How do we make it happen for all of us? Having the time of your life...and not just in a song?

A little rain

And it's a downpour. Leaving Singapore today, I survived the scariest cab ride of my life. The driver's hands shook on the wheel for most of the drive. Hugging the right lane of a three-lane highway, I have no idea what the man was thinking. You couldn't see a thing in front of the car. And lights are an afterthought in the daytime. Getting splashes from the flood rising in the well on the right, along with the wake left by cars passing on the left, I wish I'd been driving. Speaking of, it's still weird hopping into the left front seat of a car and not driving...

Once at the airport, under the awning out of the rain, the driver let out a sigh. You know, you may be sweating but it's a whole different thing when you know your driver (or pilot) is flipping out, too.

So...Borneo, here we come!

The Singapore Zoo

While my parents live here in Singapore, me? I'm still a tourist. To the zoo!
Just a few steps inside the zoo, we were greeted by tamarins. Chilling in a tree, in the middle of the entrance. No cage, no fencing. You can just reach out and touch someone, no AT&T necessary. Two tiny little black and white monkeys. Right there! How's that for a good start?

On to mousedeer, false gharials (like crocodiles) and proboscis monkeys. Singapore has the largest collection of proboscis monkeys in the world. They've had great success breeding them. They just look funny. Like they should be telling jokes to every visitor that cruises by. Were there ever a stand-up comedian of the monkey family, the proboscis would be it.

And white tigers. White and brown striped with blue or green eyes, the three lazed around in the afternoon heat. Omar, Winnie and Jippie are their names. Singapore also has a night safari, too, but the sightings are limited. I hear the best of it is the cats growling while prowling. Did you know that all tigers are Asian?

Oh, and I fell in love today at the zoo! The pygmy hippo?!? I've never been to much of a hippo lover, but this thing is the cutest creature I have ever seen. It scoots along the bottom, too dense to float or swim, and has been named the underwater ballerina of West Africa. I love it! Tiptoeing through the rivers of Africa, they can hold their breath for up to 6 minutes.

While zoos tend to depress me, creatures locked up, out of their normal habitats, the Singapore zoo seems so much freer. Kangaroos hopping around, curious emus hoping you have a snack, it's a much more interactive zoo than I've seen. Cranes and storks cruise far overhead pilfering food from flightless flamingos.

There are polar bears here, too, which surprised me a bit. A mother and son pair, Sheba and Inuka respectively, the son is the first polar bear to have been born in Singapore. They live year-round in an air-conditioned 16 degree Celsius space. We attended a feeding of the bears and watched Inuka hunt live fish in the water. From what the feeder said, at birth, he weighed about one pound. Now, however, at 18 years of age and full grown, he weighs over 1200 pounds. Damn! In the spirit of the polar bear, I guess, the woman next to me had on black jeans and a turtleneck. In 30+ Celsius...that's 90+ F.

And have you ever seen a mandril? No, it's not a bluegrass instrument, although it does have a blue, well, bum. A long red bridge of a nose, blue cheeks and a white beard compliment pink, purple and blue fur on its tail end. Astonishing. My camera battery died, so unfortunately no pics. Boo his. But a baby orang utan stole the show today. Ropes link trees together in the orang utan exhibit, but in the heat most of them seek shelter. The only baby of the group, however, did a bit of showing off. Holding on with his right arm and leg, he stretched his body out, hanging. Then, switched to the other side. And then he did cartwheels along the rope, all the while watching us watching him. At times at the Singapore zoo, it's hard to know who is on display.

Yes, Kha!

Singaporeans love to eat. So they say, they themselves, even. And this country is such a mix of people, you can find different fare on every corner.

This evening we opted for Thai at Kha in Hort Park. Talk about a gorgeous location, the restaurant offers outdoor seating on a reflection pool or a back patio, as well as cooler seats indoors. We arrived just as the sun set. Striking.

It's hard to surmise when abroad what exactly defines fine food and service. In Singapore, it seems as though locals assess three things when dining. One: quality (and of course freshness). Two: service. The third factor, however, seems to vary with respect to the first two, as though there were a sliding scale of some sort. Three: cost. So if there's excellent food, no service but cheap prices, a place may still get a great review. On the other hand, if quality is mediocre, but service is great and the prices are cheap, the place may still have a queue. If, however, the prices are high and either of the other two factors are less than stellar, the restaurant will get crucified in reviews and word-of-mouth. What's also interesting is that the service here is usually lacking. You have to flag people down, at times having had a hand raised throughout the meal.

So, Kha. I looked up its translation, and I believe it means yes when spoken by a woman. In that case, kha! I loved it. One waiter had teeth jutting from his mouth like Stonehenge, charming. Another, who is Thai, made recommendations that were lovely. We started with a sampler of salmon, chicken and crab cake, as well as a pomelo salad. As the main courses arrive, the staff walks around with rice buckets, white or red, as much as you'd like. I had a spicy beef stir-fry. It made me sweat but wasn't too grave a challenge. I also drank Duvel with dinner, a welcome respite from the knee-jerk of Tiger beer. All in all, Kha has been one of the best places I've eaten since here.

Another funny observation, people take their kids to dinner at all hours. In New York, 5 pm meals are for bartenders who've just gotten up and parents of small children, affectionately known as romper room (in either case). Kids here, however, run amuck all hours of the night!

The waves

Today we took a walk along the Southern Ridges Tree Top Walk. An elevated walk in Singapore that leads you into the trees, you pass local flora and fauna and catch nice views of the water in the distance. Up to the top of the hill, we passed the Alkaff Mansion. What I imagine once was a gorgeous mansion, the grounds of late are in in serious disrepair. Previously a restaurant and venue for special occasions, the mansion's beauty and glory now are left only to the imagination.

An architect's playground, the Henderson Waves section of the walk is a blend of function and whimsy. Thin wooden planks pieced together in a never-ending wave, it's a skateboarder's dream come true. Of course, skateboarding is prohibited...Singapore. The rest stops along the waves mirror the walk, another set of waves themselves. It's cool.

The walk leads to the cable cars over to Sentosa, a hip beach spot for Singapore. In our car, a gentleman asked if he could join us. Not a problem, he turned out to be Percy, Sales and Marketing Director for the whole cable car facility. We chatted, a welcome distraction for my mom who is not keen on heights. Percy shared that a big announcement is to be made Monday about the cable cars. He wouldn't tell us what the big news was...but I guessed it. A new cable car model is going to be added to the ride. I hope they have clear floors so you can see the ocean under your feet!

In the cars, you get a good view of Singapore's shipping and freight docks. Huge containers stacked one upon another upon another, it's big business. And the Singapore Merlion, the main one, peaks out from Sentosa island, keeping watch over the city. Off the cable car, we opted to go up into the head of the Merlion. A short introduction tells the story of the first prince to land in Singapore being greeted by a ferocious lion. The two met eyes, according to the story, and in a moment of understanding agreed to live in peace. And so, the Merlion has become the symbol of Singapore.

Down to Siloso Beach, we grabbed some lunch at Coastie's. Peel-and-eat shrimp and a pitcher of Carlsberg. Now, we're talking! Feet in the sand, drink in hand, we relaxed listening to the waves of the South China Sea hit the shore. With eyes closed, you could be anywhere in the world. But open, the view is unmistakable. Barges, rows of them, line the ocean like a parking lot. Singapore and commerce go together like beach and beer.

Mahjong!

Oh me, oh my, I have crossed into a new territory, people. I played mahjong today! Eight women and a lovely lil lunch in the middle of the day, we played mahjong all afternoon.

Having grown up playing cards, the rules are easy to follow. Two tables set up with the tiles in the middle, you deal counter clockwise around the table. A game of suits, you collect pairs, threes and fours of a kind and runs. It's fun. And I had a blast!

Games tell a lot about a person, whether sneaky or a straight-shooter, whether points-concerned or just in it for fun. I enjoyed sizing up my mom's friends and they me. I won a few games at the beginning. Beginner's luck. But once the game got going, they made mincemeat of me.

Don't be surprised if I come back to the States with a set for each of you! Especially you, Gladys and Roni!

Under ground

Today, we headed to Arab Street. Strange saying it, even stranger writing it, but it is so. There is a street here named just that. And along this street and throughout the area, you can find an assortment of items. The typical souvenirs, rugs, jewelry, non-alcoholic perfume, clothing. We saw a store with a row of tunics and matching veils side-by-side a velvet wall hanging of Jesus. Unusual.

They say that Singapore is a fine city, as in, you get fined for everything, chewing gum, defacing property, et al. But I couldn't imagine that any cosmopolitan place in the world wouldn't have graffiti. And so, down what is said to be the smallest street in Singapore, Haji Lane, I tapped into Singapore's graffiti community. A funky little strip of cafes, shops, galleries, Haji Lane is the most outside-the-box place of this tiny rhombus of a country. If anything is underground in Singapore, this is it. You can relax and smoke a hookah or buy second-hand Japanese brand clothing. Shop-houses on the second level are decorated with artistic elements. On Haji, anything goes, within governmental reason, of course.

Around the corner, I saw the first Muslim cemetery of my life. A plot of land, covered in cement stones that resemble large chess pieces, extended out behind one of the mosques. No indication of who had been buried where, if anywhere, I was left with more questions than answers, intrigued and wanting to know more.

I also entered the first mosque of my life today. Removing my shoes and covering my shoulders, I was met by a guide who reviewed the house rules. No video cameras, no shoes, appropriate covering of body parts, no stepping on the carpet and no going up the stairs. Ok. I walked in expecting something. The hidden secrets of what? Allah only knows. Having been prevented from entering the mosque we visited before, and my mom every other mosque she'd ever visited, there is something taboo, forbidden crossing the threshold. But honestly, the main prayer room looked like a hotel convention room, minus the tables and chairs, with an alcove at the end. Fully carpeted, well-lit. I believe the alcove at the end is the qibla, indicating the direction of Mecca.

From what I understand, Islam discourages idolatry and excess, favoring simplicity. It was indeed simple. There were no embossed crucifixions, no ornate pews or chandeliers, no microphone system for the preacher. A few men came and went, as did women, although they are relegated to the balcony to pray, hidden from view by a screen. Different bindings of the Koran were available on shelves throughout the main room, and a wheelchair lift was hidden in the back.

Let's face it. Islam is a mystery to me. From customs of women being required to cover themselves to hearing of eight year-old girls being married off to fifty year-old men in Saudi Arabia, I struggle to untangle and understand what it is to be Muslim. For the women. For the men. But in a mosque today, it seemed no different than praying in any church, temple, synagogue. Although I have to admit, the thought of being put up in the balcony reminded me of scenes in the movie To Kill a Mockingbird. Only in this instance, we'd all be segregated by genitalia.

In the know, la?

I have been in Singapore now for the longest stay of this trip so far, enjoying time with my parents and seeing what has been their city for a few years now. Every day is an education here. It is a curious world of difference.

Singaporeans add the syllable "la" into conversation at their leisure, though usually at the end of a sentence. And articles as well as verb tenses are generally deemed useless. For example, if you say, "I'm going to pick up some wine. Do you need anything?" The response from a Singaporean could be, "No need, la." Ok. Or when booking an appointment to have your refrigerator fixed, you may ask, "Can you come at three?" The response, "Three fix refrigerator? Can. Can," the 'can can' part said in rapid fire like it were one word. Cancun, only Cancan. And when you say, "thank you," the return is, "welcome!" This language is called, yep, you guessed it, Singlish. And my mom has become surprisingly fluent!

I am confused on when to say what and on what applies to whom. The ethnic make-up of Singapore is mostly Chinese, then Malaysian, then Indian. They all know who they are and who everyone else is. And among those populations generalizations are made of each. To live here is to know who is what and who thinks what of whom. For me, I remain a deer in headlights.

Here are a few things I've noted, nonetheless. Those who work in construction most often look West Asian, whether Indian, Bengali or Nepali I know not. But for lunch, they usually find a shady place to nap, under a bridge or tree. I have only met one Philippina so far and her English (not Singlish) was amazing. She was a waitress at the Long Bar at Raffles Hotel, but typically they are known to work as maids. While cleaning people's apartments may not seem like paradise, it can get worse. A couple was hauled into court recently for allegedly abusing their Philippina maid. Yikes! Also, worse still, many maids live in a tiny room off the main apartment, no electricity, no air conditioning, no bathroom. There is a "maid's room" in my parents' flat, where no one lives. I am no Michael Phelps, but my wingspan extended I could touch the walls. So, it's probably 5 feet by 6 feet.

And outside the windows of many apartment buildings and HDB flats (government housing), laundry dries on long poles hanging out the windows. People joke that this is the official flag of Singapore. A woman was reported to have died this month, falling from her 8th floor apartment, leaning out the window to bring in the laundry.

Also, the government rules the country with what is called economic freedom and social control. I'm not exactly sure what all that means. But as for social control, here's an example. The language a child learns in public school here is dictated by the origin of the father. Were a Singaporean woman of Chinese descent to marry a Singaporean man of Indian descent, their children would learn Tamil in school, for example, as well as English. Were the father of Chinese descent, however, the children would learn Mandarin. Children are taught their "mother tongue," the word mother referring to the father's family's country of origin, the child's mother and her native tongue irrelevant. It's strange to me that kids in the same schools would be required to learn a language based upon ethnicity rather than a choice extended to the family of that child. Oh, well. There's always private school, right?

But here's what I wonder. Why not just teach English only? Singaporean isn't a language and they have adapted English to serve their needs (a former British colony). Here's the catch. From what I've read, the government needs this type of curriculum in order to maintain this "multi-racial" society. Mind you, it is not multi-cultural, as the cultures remain quite distinct. But aren't we all in the human race? Still, Singapore's government is founded on and maintained by keeping these distinctions. A non-Singaporean cannot own land. But even a Singaporean landowner has rules on to whom he can sell the property. In ways like these, the government controls its population, no lines blurred. Likewise, if charged of a crime, you see a judge in court. There is no jury of your peers, no difference of opinion. And if found guilty, the punishment can range from a fine, to caning, to execution. A woman just got of the bus in a t-shirt that reads, "Legalize it." The fine print of the shirt indicates that it refers to legalizing gum.

As for economic freedom? Singapore thrives, many banking institutions set up shop here. And shipping is huge. And have I mentioned oil? From my parents' window, you can see the occasional bursts of flame from the top of a refinery. But with social control, it's hard to imagine that true freedom in anything can exist. A quirky place for me, I cannot wait for what tomorrow may bring.

Asian Civilizations Museum

To the Asian Civilizations Museum today, we joined a guided tour reviewing the museum's temporary and permanent exhibitions. Covering history as far west as India over to China and into southeast Asia, this part of the world has such a fascinating history and intermingling of culture, religion and customs.

The tour began with a discussion of Buddhism. Our guide told the story of the Buddha Siddhartha. A holy man having predicted at birth that Siddhartha would be either a great ruler or a man of wisdom, his father (also a king) kept him behind closed doors most of his early life to seal his son's fate as a ruler. Overcome with curiosity of the outside world, at age 29 Siddhartha took a ride to see the beyond the walls of what had been his world. On this journey, he encountered four things that would change his life from then on: an old man, a sick man, a corpse and an ascetic. Having never witnessed suffering, old age, disease and death were a shock to him. Of equal impact was the ascetic's refusal of society and its trappings, and his focus on ridding himself of fear and suffering. Siddhartha returned to the palace, pondered what he'd seen, and ended up renouncing the life he had to embark upon a quest for enlightenment. As a Buddha, Siddhartha discouraged any worship of him, and upon his death requested that his image remain anonymous. In homage, nonetheless, people made imprints of his feet, or represented him as the lotus. Tidbit: Buddhas are said to have toes that are all the same in length.

Discussions of headhunter tribes of Borneo, the story of Ganesh and why he has the head of an elephant, an exhibition on the Singapore river, the museum has quite a collection.

Most recently, they are running an exhibit on KiangXi the Manchu emperor of the Qing dynasty in China. KiangXi took the throne at age 8 and ruled for 60 years, the longest rule even still of any Chinese emperor. I don't know much about China's history, so for me, the exhibit was especially informative. KiangXi seems to have been a Renaissance man, in purest sense of the word. Involved in every aspect of his empire and far beyond, he encouraged dialogue and study of military training, arts, religion, science from all parts of the globe. An open-minded human being and yet disciplined, he had a personal lust for life and knowledge ranging from archery to calligraphy. He helped to fuse ideas from Europe with Chinese tradition. The crown jewel of the exhibit, according to our guide, is a small vase from KiangXi's time period. What makes the piece so special is its blend of European and Chinese design on porcelain, along with its authenticity mark engraved on the bottom. Maybe five inches in height, the piece is so rare, most vases from this period damaged or broken if still in existence. The museum had to take out a huge insurance policy for this piece alone. The tropics don't lend such a favorable climate to the preservation of artifacts and antiques.

300 and Ginger

Sundays, ahh, Sundays. For more years than I can recall, I have worked on Sunday mornings. Brunch is a big production in the city. But today was none of that!

And what's more, I got to watch a movie. Oh, delight! And while it may not be the best movie in the world, I watched 300. An especially nostalgic movie for me, the first and last time I saw it was in Vilcabamba, Ecuador. I had been traveling with Alejandro and our dog Ginger for a few months, that week in Vilcabamba to be the final in our shared journey. Alejandro and I...we had lots of fun, talk about some dancing! But Ginger utterly adored me and I her. Watching this movie took me back.

The owner of the hostel in Vilcabamba had dogs. Big ones. And Ginger, who fully grown still fit in my hands, never seemed to realize that a big dog could and would eat her in one bite. The lounge where everyone watched movies had hammocks hanging from the ceiling. And that little puppy lounged in her own or on someone's lap. She was full of energy when the time was right, and so chill when necessary, too. I miss her even still and hope she's having fun!

Street walkers

Today, we cruised the neighborhood called Geylong to pick up the aforementioned charger. Rad was staying in what is known as the red-light district in Singapore. Funny how blue-light these districts are in the daytime. His hostel is directly across from a Methodist elementary school, to boot. Irony.

I climbed the stairs to the first floor where a middle-aged Chinese woman greeted me. I asked her for the charger, mentioning Rad's name. "Oh, no. Rad left this morning." Here we go again. I reiterated that I was there for the charger and said my name. Ahhh, magic words. She unlocked the office and presented it. I jumped into the air a couple of times. Then hugged her. She smiled and even giggled a little, but I think I made her uncomfortable with that move. After several thank yous and a couple of bows, I was out the door. Luck renewed, camera able to be properly recharged! Seriously, I couldn't believe it. Something like that is not important in the grand scheme of things, but that someone was willing to make it a big deal, hauling it wherever he went for weeks? Well, I'm touched. Thanks, Rad. Thanks.

Back to my now two-week tour of Singapore, next we checked out the main post office, nothing too wild, but it affords a good view of the city. Even though this city, state, country is so small, I still seem unable to get my bearings. We walked through a Malaysian market (mostly headscarves and tunics for sale among fruits and veggies), and passed Malay Village. Many Malays here used to live in communities called kampongs, traditional communities, only one of which still inhabited remains in Singapore and is on the verge of demolition.

We walked along rows of historic shop-houses, storefronts on the street level, apartments upstairs. A new karoake bar among them, the people here send flowers for openings. A gesture of luck and hope in new beginnings, it's funny to see flower arrangements dedicated, "All the best to 'Love You, Karaoke'!"

We stopped for laksa for lunch! I first had it in CH in Malaysia. My favorite, here it is a soup with coconut milk broth, noodles, shrimp, laksa leaves, fishcake, chilis and cockles. Famous 49 Katong Laksa does a great job. Sitting at a table on the side of the road with a jug of lime juice, you just don't care how hot the temperature is.

Rad is Rad

You know, sometimes in life I am a bit superstitious. When a decision has yet to be made about a topic in my life or a question remains unanswered, and I am no longer able to influence the outcome whatsoever, I throw my hands up. Surrender. Let it go. Fine, I may obsess about it a little still (no comments, peanut gallery), but what's going to happen with it will. Enter Rad.

I left my camera battery and charger charging in the Cameron Highlands the morning I left, weeks ago now. And on the bus fifteen minutes down the curvy mountain road on the way out of CH, I realized it. I couldn't exactly ask the bus to turn around, although I considered it. The schedule alone would prevent the turn back. Not to mention, where would a bus make a U-ie on a two-lane mountain road? So, at our first stop, two hours later, I called the Lodge (Daniel's Lodge) and asked the lovely woman working the counter if she could pass it to Rad, one of the guy's staying in my dorm. I had met him officially only that morning before leaving CH and we exchanged email addresses. Here's how my first phone call on a Malaysian pay phone went:

Shuffling through receipts, aHA! I found the receipt for my bed and called the number at the top. Up walked the bus driver as I'm dialing, my purse spilling it contents on top of a trash bin. What a mess.

"Yes, hi. My name is Anne." I said to the woman on the phone. "I just left the Lodge this morning and I left my battery and charger there. Charging..."
"Bus is leaving," says the driver. "Wait! I left something at my hotel in CH. Can you just wait a moment?" I reply. He hovers and lights a smoke.
"Hello? Hello? Hello??" says the woman.
"Hello? Yes, hello!?!" Repeat my lead in.
"Oh, yes! Hello, Anne!"
"Yes, Yes! Hello! Do you see my charger and battery? Are they still there?"
"A small square one?
"Yes, yes! Can you leave the them with Rad? He's in the same dorm I was in?"
"Sorry...what?" Another Malaysian 50 cen piece into the phone.
Repeat.
"Rad? Rad is not here right now," she informed me.
"No, no. Can you leave my charger with Rad when you see him next??"
"Oh, yes, Rad? Sure!"
"You'll leave my charger with Rad?"
"Sure, I'll give it to Rad. No problem."
"Ok, ok! Thank you so much!"

Phew. I hung up. Have I mentioned that one could use an interpreter at times, even though all parties are speaking English? The driver draws a circle with his hand pointing at my bag. Accomplished, I wanted to give him a high-five, but it didn't exactly work out.

Now, I know it sounds silly. A battery and charger? But my second day in Singapore, my camera battery almost dead, we cruised the electronics mall for a replacement. Two asides: in Malaysia and Singapore, like goes with like. There is a mall for electronics, a luxury goods mall, a mall for massages. Sometimes, one mall may diversify and simply do a floor of each, one floor hairdressers, the next shoes, the next Oriental rugs, and so on. Also, in Singapore there is apparently a discount for every single thing. It's an expensive city, so people are always looking to save dough. Back to the charger, we couldn't find the same one. So I picked up one that would suffice, although didn't ask for the discount, and, therefore, the dude didn't give me one. Bastard!

So, again feeling superstitious about having lost the first thing on my trip, and unable to find another one, I panicked! My mind starts to think, "Uh, oh, your luck is running out..." Silly, right? Not to mention, now my charger is going to be passed to a random guy who doesn't even really know me. And me, I have to do my best to be charming (no problem), and yet subtle about asking if someone I hardly know could get me my charger (a bit more problematic for me).

Over the period of the last three weeks, Rad and I exchanged a couple of emails. Nothing dire, but I expressed the difficulty associated with losing the charger. I offered to meet up with him, even head back to CH, whatever worked best with his travel plans. And, then, I let it go. A week and a half of no response and today, I got an email from him. He left the charger and battery in a hostel in Singapore. He held on to them for weeks, and left them practically on my folks' doorstep. God bless him. Good people do good things. And sometimes things just work out. Superstitious I shall remain, and I hope I can return the favor, whether for Rad or someone else.

M & M

Back in Singapore today in the afternoon, we unpacked and headed out for Mexican and margaritas at Margarita's on Dempsey Road. I got mixed tacos, no surprise there, spiced with chipotle. The spices are a bit different than what we get in the U.S. but still quite tasty. Here, cinnamon is used to flavor more than just the mole, and it's good but different. The margaritas were also reminiscent of life back in the States. I just wish the margarita crew, you know who you are, could have joined us around the table!

Massages and the sunset

Sanur Beach is chill, not much night life. The locals call it snore beach. We are staying at a resort that has one of my favorite things...a swing bar! My friend Keri and I first encountered one of these in Playa del Carmen, Mexico last September. And of what fun. Drinks and swings? Brilliant. While the seats at the swing bar in Mexico were wooden, here the swings are chairs with cushions. Trouble. The bar is a circle, too, but ringed with cushioning so that you don't destroy your knees swinging. While I haven't been much of a party animal here, I have tried a few drinks made with arak, the local palm tree sap liquor. I like. I like.

Sanur Beach Hotel is a fully-equipped resort. Two pools, clay tennis courts, a gym, several restaurants and bars, one hardly has to leave the resort. Me personally, I ducked out of my room for a dip in the ocean or to sun at the pool, not much more. Many of the guests are on all-inclusive getaways, as well, swimming up to the pool bar at noon to enjoy.

My mom and I sneaked into the hotel spa in the afternoon for massages. Two hours later, we walked out refreshed and revived. The package included a full body massage, full body scrub, yogurt treatment and flower petal bath. The scrub stands out as the best part for me by far. I cannot recall the last time I had a massage. What a treat!

At low tide, the water recedes far out into the sea, exposing a large amount of the sea floor. Fisherman trudge out through the sand for an evening catch. Guests also venture out onto the newly-exposed beach looking for shells and coral. The beach is also lined with an esplanade that runs the whole of Sanur. We strolled our way to a market at the northern end of the beach, having been joined by three women, shop-owners, a few minutes before we hit the market. I have to say, I would recommend the market in Ubud over any other I've seen in Bali. The Sanur market is nothing more than left-overs from Ubud. I think the women head to Ubud to shop themselves to replenish their merchandise. Many of the boutique beach-front hotels on the northern end of the beach look like paradise.

Our last night here, we headed to Seminyak for the sunset and dinner. Seminyak is apparently the place to be seen in Bali. At the bar at La Lucciola, we sipped cocktails at the beachfront bar and watched the sun go west. A known spot for sunsets, tourists and locals alike jockey for the best seats and pictures. We showed up without a reservation and were granted a table without too much of a problem. Delicious food and a great view, dinner was almost perfect. The only issue came when the bill did. Another party's drinks and appetizers ended up on our check. It took five members of the restaurant's staff to correct. Ah, well. It's not like we had anywhere to be...

Spare yourself the Sparrow

Many of you may have read, heard about, even experienced the red-light districts throughout Asia. Young, beautiful Asian women on the arms of Western men? Big deal. Happens all the time in New York, at least. It takes all kinds. But here, something's different.

I first noticed an unusually high percentage of this combo in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It's none of my business, but in line for a coffee, hearing the man order for the two of them, the woman not so well-versed in English, it made me wonder. Are these two in love? Eh, who cares...but upon closer look, most of the men looked, well, broken. Older, worn, even dried up, like prunes. Not only lovely, these women sure were kind to take to these men. I didn't realize. Should have left my naivete in New York. Here, it is all paid. Paid time spent. A job. And out in the open in many shades of legal. Ok. Who am I to judge?

But hearing what are probably urban myths created by travelers (or at least I hope they are), many of the women have families they leave to support through this type of work. I don't know what women who work in a sex industry think or feel. Do they hate the work, enjoy it? Are they indifferent? I can only imagine what they dream about. Are their dreams any different than mine?

So at the airport, on the way to Bali, I saw a book called Red Light Nights, Bangkok Daze and picked it up, hoping for some insight. I finished it today. And I'm discouraged, even disappointed. William Sparrow, writer and author, not sure if acclaimed, has enjoyed researching red-light districts of Asia and the women (and ladyboys) in those areas. His book, however, is no more than a compilation of articles he has already published on his website (which I won't link). I can't say his book or any article therein was as informative as I expected. More specifically, I'd hoped the stories would tell working women's stories and lives.

Beginning the book with a write-up of what I imagine is one of his most lascivious experiences, Sparrow moves on to discuss porn stars, twin fantasies and, my favorite, his buddy's affinity for the old and ugly. He chronicles his friends' trysts and his own experiences with women, using those stories to argue the superiority of Asian women and to justify his use of their services. It begs the question. Would his articles have been written if he did not already have an affinity for these women?

But here's the real issue for me. The lines are blurred. Fine, as a writer you may have to use creative methods to get a story. But is research really research when you pay someone to sleep with you for it? And how can a writer investigate the sex industry and never have a moment of conscience? In one of his article's written about a teenager in Burma he writes, "It is one of the very few experiences I have had in Asia where the girl on offer was certainly not willing to sell herself for sex..." Wow. That is just sad. How many of these women would do this work if they'd had the same choice. I wonder still. Does this man ever read what he writes?

As is, there is more sex-pat than writer in Sparrow. He scrapes the surface to titillate but remains far more at large than investigative. I guess I'd hoped to enter the doors and communities I will never see. To become a spectator in a world I have never entered. Smells, sights, description. But alas, Sparrow does not deliver. I guess money can't buy everything. Upon discussing my feelings of the work with my Mom, she exclaimed, "Damn! And I paid for it!" While a woman can certainly pay for it, only a woman living the life can tell the real story, at least in Sparrow's case.

If interested in this topic, please do research and find a legit account of what it means to work these districts. Or wait for my next review. Either way, spare yourself this one.

The outsiders effect

Throughout history, the people of Bali have maintained a distinctive culture and way of life. Hindu kingdoms in other parts of Indonesia, dating back as early as first century AD, are said to have coexisted with the native Balinese, establishing the first Hindu colony on Bali in the 1300s. In the following century, however, the introduction of Islam in Indonesia and its growing power, particularly in Java, caused many artists, noblemen and priests of Hindu faith to flee to Bali. Those who sought refuge adopted many Balinese traditions and customs, resulting in the unique culture and practices, a blend of Hinduism and animist beliefs, found there today.

According to Bagi (the bicycle tour owner and operator and native Balinesian), crime is not an option on Bali, at least not for the Balinese. Any Balinesian who commits a crime is reported to the village head and faces extensive punishment. Whatever was taken or harmed remedied, the individual punishment and the subsequent family humiliation serve as the main deterrents against crime. Accordingly, most of the crimes committed and reported are attributed to outsiders. Whether fact or fiction, Bali has unfortunately been dealt its fair share in the last several years.

In 2002, three bombs on Bali, claimed by an Islamic terrorists, killed 202 people and injured 209 more. Just about 40 of those killed were Indonesian, the remainder foreign nationals. At that point, Australians were not granted insurance if traveling to Bali, which has been one of their frequented vacation destinations. Tourism on Bali suffered, as did its people. Again in another attack in 2005, suicide bombers killed 26 people, most Indonesians, and injured 126 others. The terrorists concentrated their targets on tourist locations, and in the first bombing, the US Embassy. According to Bagi, not a single person arrested or involved in the attacks was Balinese.

The islands have seen a slow but steady return of tourists since the bombings. And those who've visited the islands notice increases in room and board and activities alike. But the Balinese maintain that tourism is not what it was prior to the attacks. While the Indonesian government recognizes the economic benefit of a place like Bali, the religious differences and Western tourists have made the islands an attractive target for terrorists. One can only hope that Bali's beefed-up security may prevent future violence and help restore prosperity to such peaceful place. But for the Balinese, more than anywhere else I've seen, the good is taken with the bad. In that same vein, the men convicted of the 2002 bombings (all from Java) were executed by firing squad last year.

Sanur Easter

Goodbye, Ubud! Today we headed to Sanur for Bali beach fun. On the way, we stopped in Celuk, a silver and gold artisan village. Hand-crafted right in front of your eyes, you see silver melted and blended with copper to make it stronger. Then, depending on the type of jewelry being made, the silver is hammered into tiny silver balls for earrings, or long strands to coil for bracelets. You name it. Meticulous work.

And, lord, there's plenty of it. The shop we stopped in seemed more a gallery. In a sea of earrings, necklaces, pendants, rings, figurines, silver as far as the eye could see, I was stymied. A lover of silver, a ring on each hand and a necklace, all of which I almost always wear, I looked for presents for friends. Honestly, though, I couldn't even begin to take in the variety. So much merchandise, I found it impossible to find that one piece that stood out.
If you go to Celuk, head to a compound, or family shop, instead of one of the large galleries. I think it's easier (and probably more authentic an experience) to choose something nice from one artisan, rather than a silver factory.

At Sanur, we reached our hotel, settled in and hit the pool. Blue sky, beach, sun. Into the evening we scouted out the boardwalk for a dinner venue. Unhappy with the options, we joined many of the hotel's guests for an Easter dinner buffet. "Happy Easter Day" read the sign above the bandstand. Turned out there was a performer, too. Clad in red head to toe, including her pumps, backed by a dude with a keyboard, a Chinese singer reeled off a number of hits. Straight out of a Hong Kong karoake bar, we nicknamed her Suzy Stretch Pants. A little Elvis, then Only You, with an instrumental groove by Johnny Smooth Hands, it was too funny. Now, I love singing. And I love music, too. But this was, well, an Easter comedy. After a couple of numbers, Suze took a break, at which point, out wandered a three-piece band. Among the crowd, the guys serenaded several tables and got people clapping, some even up and dancing. Now we're talking.

I want to ride my bicycle!

Bright and early and out the door this morning, we headed out of Ubud for a day of biking around Bali. After a hearty breakfast, or as the Aussies say "brekki," we suited up, mountain bikes, helmets, sunscreen, water. Our group ranged in ages from 6 to 80, cities from Perth to Denver.

On the road, our first stop was to a local Balinese compound. Families live together on into adulthood, with wives and children adding to the unit, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles often all living together. Each room serves a purpose in the house. Related to the parts of the body, each compound has a family temple, bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen. The family usually has a main source of income as well related to the compound. The first family we visited farmed. In the back of the house they kept pigs and chickens. One of the sows had just had a bunch of piglets. Cute! On our way out, the woman of the house was making sweets to sell. Sticky rice cake, anyone?

Through the village, small children just outside the house greet our group with "hello!" all too eager to use English. It's wild to think that cruising past these walled compounds, we're viewing a neighborhood. Imagine a bike ride through an Atlanta neighborhood, for example. Houses with driveways, trees, shutters, cars, kids playing in the cul-de-sac. It's the same here, only these houses are decorated with stone work and hand-carved figures, and look more like temples. The main entrance to most homes has steps up to a gate that you pass through, protected on either side by two figures. Mirror images of one another, the figures point their hands in opposing directions. And the figures are almost always covered at the waist with black and white checkered sarongs. Everywhere you look in Bali, this material covers the bottom half of figurines. The material itself represents good and evil, the dark and light forces. But I have yet to discern why the figures are covered at the waist.

Another thing to note. Every house has an offering in front. Made of bamboo, the offerings sweep high into the air and curl back over the street. At the base, out of reach of animals, is a small opening or box in which the family places a daily offering to the gods. Inside on a banana leaf that's been folded into a small tray, you may find a variety of things: flowers, sticky rice, bananas and a stick of incense. I have failed to mention thus far that the majority of people in Bali are Hindu. While the Balinese would never wish for harm, they recognize the balance in the world, the necessity of opposing forces. These offerings are placed outside for the gods of both good and evil. Something placed in the box for both to thank the gods of good and appease the gods of evil. And as a matter of fact, I have seen these offerings at every opening or entrance. In front of the door to my room. In front of the door to the hotel. Lining the streets at the doors of businesses, they are everywhere.

Riding through Bali on a bicycle is an experience. As many of you may know, I have ridden a bike as a main form of transportation for the last 10 years. On a bike, you are so much more in touch with your surroundings. At peace even. You feel the breeze through your hair. You hear the birds around you, music in the distance. An approaching car? You hear it. You're in it. As is the case here in Bali today. And have I mentioned the land? Rice fields have been carved into the land, terraces of green lined with palms. And the workers in the distance sickles in hand spot the fields. And the colors. Many of the temples have umbrellas in brilliant shades peaking out over the temple walls. To enter many of the temples, men and women both have a dress code. Men are required to wear a headband, a long shirt and a sarong, the women, a long shirt and sarong, and for both a waist sash. Having none of that, I am contented to peer through small windows of the temples and openings, a peeping Anne.

Banyan Tree Bike Tours, owned and operated by our guide for the day Bagi, had it hands full with our group. The youngest kid in our group rode on the back of his father's bike, but his brother kept the tour guides occupied. Told to keep left to avoid traffic, this kid covered the rode, weaving a snake's path through Bali. I think he may have been used to coaster brakes, instead of the hand breaks all our bikes had. Generally speaking, though, most of the guides seemed happy to look after the little renegade. I imagine they have kids and took to him as though he were their own.

We stopped at another compound. The livelihood of this family? Arak. A local moonshine made from palm tree sap, I imagine this family does quite well. Strong in odor but nowhere near as strong in taste, at roughly 6 US per bottle, it sure beats the local prices for Jack. And if you need to something stronger, like petrol, run by the neighbor's for a quick shot of Absolut? In small villages where there are no official gas stations or pumps, locals refill old liquor bottles with gasoline, a makeshift Shell.

Past rice fields and through villages, up our first hill, we passed schoolkids headed home. The girls all had two braids in their hair. And everyone was in a uniform. They spoke in English, asked us questions, and upon response with a question asked of them, they laughed and shied away. I don't know if they understood my questions or were just being coy. Either way, it was fun. Next we stopped at a rice field among several workers to watch the process of harvesting rice. Growing in stalks that look like wheat, they beat the stalks against wood to free the kernels of rice. As we watched, another worker walked up carrying an eel. Bali apparently has mud eels living among the rice fields. They laughed and said it was lunch. Just down the road, another group of workers were flanked by a woman yelling. I asked Wyan, one of the guides (his name meaning fourth child), why she was yelling, and he indicated that she was cursing Bagi and the tour. According to him, she was angry that he would parade his group of tourists in front of her, none doing anything to help her or give her money. Many of the fields have scarecrows, too, although, they prove scary to crow and human alike.

Our tour finished with a bit of off-roading, through the woods, across a river at a lovely house. Bagi's house. His wife greeted us, having prepared an amazing lunch for the group. Balinese eat large amounts of rice and lean more toward vegetarianism. Lunch included spicy tofu, chicken satay, a fish curry, tempeh (who'd have thought?!?), vegetable and rice. Afterward, she offered coffee or tea and small Balinese sweets. While noshing away, the group got to chat a bit. And as it turns out, Bagi has seen the world, having worked on a cruise ship for a few years. And of all the world, he still chose to return to Bali. I can understand. And after a day like today, I am thankful he did. Not one part of this day has lacked a thing. Brilliant job, Bagi! Thanks to you, your family and crew!

Around Ubud

Ubud is wonderful. It's a balance of Balinesian nature and culture. Sure, tourism is thriving here but it isn't out of balance with the local vibe. More specifically, tourism doesn't wipe out or replace all Balinesian. Our rooms look out onto a rice field, rice the major staple in the Balinese diet. I think we've ended up with the best rooms, not to mention views in the place.

Down Monkey Forest Road, we headed to the market in the afternoon. Hand-carved items of cats, owls even male parts, silver, bags, sarongs, everyone wants to you to be his or her customer. Most say it's for luck. Whether first customer, last customer, first customer after the last, it all seems to revolve around luck. Who doesn't want to be lucky? Pretty smart tactic, if you ask me. The Ubud market, however, does have some serious steals on batik, and on dresses. Uh, oh. Note: for any clothing needs, go upstairs! The prices are half and there is more selection.

After the market, we lunched and then hit the tourist information center. Every evening, troupes of dancers perform traditional Balinese dances. The performance we're slated for is of both Legong and Barong dances.

At dusk, the stage with the Ubud Palace doors as the backdrop, the performance began with Gamelon music. Fifteen men or so, use hammers on xylophone-like instruments made of bamboo. Backed by Balinese drums and cymbals, the haunting, staccato plucks of the hammers set the stage for the opening of the show. Traditionally performed to entertain kings, one woman descends the palace steps onto the stage to commence the Legong dance. Precise movements, exquisite costuming and intense facial expressions the dance is mesmerizing. Two more women join the first and weave among one another in rhythm and response to the music. Their costumes shimmer, layers of gold, reds, greens, ornate jewels, the make-up striking. Girls enter troupes to learn the dances at young ages, in order to master the movements, the expressions. American aside: a woman in the audience sells drinks, snacks and mosquito repellent.

Next is the Barong dance, divided into several sections. The parts of the dance serve different functions. In the first part of the Barong, a huge dog and monkey take the stage. This portion of the performance is listed as an overture before the main performance, but I have to admit, this performance intrigues and delights as much as any other part. The jaws of the dog are wooden and snapped together to make an impression.

The remaining parts of the Barong tell a story, revolving around a main theme of Balinese culture. Good and evil. Everything in Bali is known to have two sides, a good and bad, each of which must be respected and appeased. The remaining acts of the Barong dance involve a widow and her black magic being confronted by a white magic guru. The guru carries orders from the king to heal all who have fallen under the widow witch's spell. The two enter into the battle of good versus evil. The witch burns a banyan tree, the fire of which the guru extinguishes in order to restore the tree back to life. Aware that she has lost the battle, the witch transforms herself into a monster. Forcing the guru's hand, he too transforms into the protector. The people of the town surrounding the two, those who feel evil threatening their bodies pierce themselves with kris knives to combat it, good eventually prevailing. The last of the dance closed with the full moon rising above the palace. I wanted to howl!

Bali, Bali, Bali!

Off to Bali, Indonesia today, we made it to Singapore's Changi airport with time to spare. We perused the book store, made our selections and headed to board for the two hour flight. I'm excited to see another country, another part of the world. And for me, and many States-side, Bali has been no more than exotic notion. The likes of which only yuppie honeymooners had the luck to visit.

At the airport in Bali, a sea of signs with others' names greeted us . Ours were supposed to be in the mix but never showed. After an hour or so, our ride found us, his car having broken down. Bummah! We hopped in a taxi headed for Ubud, the first spot on our week's tour. It's an hour from the airport to Ubud, along some small streets, and over a fair amount of potholes. At times, only the full moon lit the way! We made it to Sri Bungalows at last. And somehow, I've ended up in the Princess Bungalow!

Spree...it ain't just a candy!

So, Singapore seems to have added another addiction to my fold. Shopping. Now, now. Those of you who know me are shocked. "That girl has been a shop-o-holic the past 11 years that I've know her...!" Right, right. Well, I'd like to think I'd remedied my behavior in recent years. Guess not.

Really, it's not so much of an addiction. It's a past-time. Like, umm, baseball?!? Yeah, yeah...that's it! Anyhow. I picked up a few cute dresses today, a skirt, several tops...but out of all of it, I only bought one dress! Not bad, right? Not bad at all! My bank account and my storage locker, and those two things alone, are happy that Singapore caters to a smaller frame of woman. Imagine the trouble I'd be in if every woman had, well, boobs.

Singapore is to shoppers what I imagine Vegas is for gamblers. There is a shopping mall for every neighborhood. It's more like there's a neighborhood built around every mall. And inside, there are hairdressers, travel agencies, bars, restaurants, movie theatres, karaoke bars, massage parlors. Why leave? It's as though I'm in the seventh grade again. "Mom, can we go to the mall??" Oh, dear.

US Embassy Suites

Official state department travel warnings often encourage you to register with the embassy in each country you visit. I'm sure some people do it. And I imagine you do if you're working abroad, or have a specialty visa. I, personally, have never visited one in my travels. Likewise, in the unfortunate event of your passport being lost or stolen, you have to visit your respective embassy for replacement documents. Thankfully, in this case, I have not had to visit. Fingers crossed.

Today, my mom and I went to the US Embassy here in Singapore to add pages to her passport. Certain countries require no more than room sufficient for a small entry and exit stamp. You can visit three countries and not even fill up one page. Other countries, like Indonesia, require a full page for the entry visa, plus room for the exit stamp, and won't allow you entry without the proper space. We're headed to Indonesia in a few days, hence the need for the pages.

As luck would have it, we chose to visit the embassy on the day the embassy opted to change its policies. Be warned: what used to take 45 minutes now takes two days! While a pain, I can only imagine what the wait must be at other embassies and for other countries. All things considered, a two day wait is nothing compared to the years it can take others to reach a desired destination in the first place. Still, as we've got it so good, we expect such rights, such service. I've been told since a kid that I could do anything, be anything. Opportunity coupled with a positive outlook doesn't lend much favor to the word "no." And with no notification listed, either on the internet or in the embassy itself, patience in the waiting room grew thin. The embassy could join up with the Embassy Suites Hotel, and start a joint hotel and passport service. Check into your room, drop your passport in the room safe, request the necessary services, run down to the bar for happy hour. The next day check out with souvenirs from the hotel gift shop, your passport done. It's a thought...Upon finally being called to the appropriate room, complaints about the wait ended with discussions of letters to Senators!

After the embassy, we headed to the Raffles for tea. This place gets some business! June, another friend of my parents, and her husband are also moving from Singapore on their way home to Boulder. Best of luck!

So long, farewell!

Tonight we had a going away party for two of my parents' friends. Andrina and Alex are headed back to New Zealand tomorrow, having been in Singapore for 5 years. The expat community (peppered with a few Singaporeans) my parents have become a part of is at times a revolving door of comings and goings.

Gathered for the farewell at my folks' flat, we ate, drank, laughed. The women in the group get together far more than the men, so tonight the men were able to meet and carouse. I've been enjoying sparkling red wines like Lambrusco (for which the Italian in Langkawi mocked me--it's apparently swill) for a few years, but tonight shared a sparkling Shiraz. I fear it may be the Boone's Farm for red wine...at least it doesn't come in a box! I enjoy wine, regardless, and I hope haven't been a snob about it. Others liked it, too. And even men!

Getting to meet the people my parents have been talking about for 2 years is also cool. My mom, in particular, has traveled a fair amount with friends, taken Tai Chi with others and told stories about their lives. It's nice to put a name to the faces.

I have to admit, as well, I love parties. People getting together, having a meal, drinks. I just love it. And I much prefer to play hostess rather than being a simple guest. It's a delight, I think, in making sure people are enjoying and have all they desire.

We watched the sunset and chatted about our experiences. A new to the circle and the only kid in the crew, everyone was curious about my life and experiences in Asia. And while many of the men, and some of the women, work at the University, paths don't always cross, until, say, at a going away party. Tonight. Among the getting-to-know-you conversations, a strange one developed, in particular, between Kitty and Huei. The two women, both from Taiwan, found out that they'd grown up in the same area of Taiwan. Even more interesting, had gone to the same elementary and high schools. Shocked, the conversation then turned in to a battle, each woman trying to find out who was older, while revealing nothing of her own age. It was fun to watch. Cliches are cliches for a reason. Small world, indeed.

Singablanca

We had brunch this morning. Like normal. Saturday brunch at Epicurious. I had smoked salmon on a bagel. Delicious, fresh juice. Wait...where am I??

Singapore is a big deal. Cosmopolitan. Successful. Locals and expats alike enjoy the restaurant culture, nightlife, business, universities, museums. Oh, and did I mention shopping? It's a serious metropolis for Southeast Asia. From what I've seen so far, THE metropolis.

After brunch, we cruised along the Singapore river. The country, independent for just over 40 years, has combined its British influence with modern, purely Singaporean constructions. A former post office has been turned into the Fullerton, a five-star hotel. The previous Supreme Court building opposes the new one on the skyline, a British colonial one facing the alien spaceship-styled new building.

The river is lined with great views of other city architecture. One building nicknamed the Singapore calculator, banks and more banks, and a merlion! Singapore is said to have been named from "singa" which means lion and "pura" meaning city. The lion city, the fish portion of the merlion emblem represents the city's link and historical tie to the sea as a port city.

In the near-ground, the river is dotted with restaurants and bars. A mix of cultures, mostly Indian, Malaysian and Chinese, all kinds of cuisine are available, even fusion of those. Outside influences also abound. A German beer garden. And was that Hooter's? Why, yes. Yes, it was.

After our river ride, we cruised a few of the shopping malls and headed to the Raffles' Hotel Long Bar for a cocktail. Singapore Sling, anyone? The Raffles is a luxury hotel named for Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of modern Singapore, and has also been declared a national monument. One of the top 100 hotels in the world, it is indeed a beauty. While many parts of the hotel are reserved for residents only, the Long Bar is a treasure open for all. Upon entry, you're greeted to a floor full of peanut shells. Leaf fans line the wall and alternate swings for a breeze. The bar is all dark wood, the staff in waist coats and sarongs. The setting is so classic, you expect to see Frank Sinatra stroll in with a cigar and martini. It's Casablanca in Asia...except for the Aussies in their board shorts!

Sixty-five and Singapore

I hopped on the bus this morning for Singapore. Down the mountain roads, I had a touch too much whiskey last night (thanks Helen and Celine!) and struggled to keep my breakfast down along the curvy roads. I've never been one for motion sickness, but hey. We grow in this life, right? We change. The bus had no bathroom in it either. Worrisome. But, I made it. Deep breaths are worth a lot in life. Breathing in general, I guess...

So today is my Dad's birthday. Happy birthday, Pops! So I figured I'd trek down to Singapore to celebrate. I'm excited to see my parents and their life half a world away. Today, my Dad is the same age as the year Singapore became an independent country!

Approaching the Singapore bus station, which is no more than a drop-off at a high-rise of karaoke bars, I switched on the audio and listened. ABBA. I longed to be at Lucy's in the city, dedicating Fernando to her and dancing into the night. And then came Air Supply. "I'm all out of love. I'm so lost without you..." That one is all Salome Solano!

Hey, look! Night golf!

I'm not an addict, no, I feel...

Oh, heavens, people. I have an addiction. Never having had the addictive personality that many I know and love have (or at least never admitting it), aside from coffee (oh, and maybe alcohol? I fear), Southeast Asia has officially stripped me of my non-addict status. It's called 100 Plus. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. It tastes of flowers ever so slightly, with a hint of orange, like Fresca but SO much better. The stuff also has eletrolytes in it. Not only tasty but also restorative? I say, "Why not?" It's like a cross between Orangina, seltzer and Gatorade! Downside, of course, it's a Coca Cola product, but what can you do? Monopoly is not just a Parker Bros game.

P.S. It's also good as a mixer (at least with ice, Bombay Sapphire gin and a little lime juice).